Merry Christmas
by IReadAndWriteSometimes
Summary: Being sick on Christmas sucks, but it's not all that bad either.


Hello, everyone! Long time no see! :)

As the not at all obvious title suggests, this story is about Christmas. I know I'm a little late to the show, but I'll be cheeky and say I'm confident nobody will complain. The story is pure Shandy fluff and just a little something I wrote in an effort to cheer up my favorite person here, _escapewithstories_.

I hope you enjoy the read and tell me what you thought of it.

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**MERRY CHRISTMAS**

In an unconscious search for the usual source of warmth next to her, Sharon turned to her side. The slight chill in the room let her know it was close to dawn, far too early to fight the pull of sleep, so she scooted further across the bed to curl up against Andy until a more sensible hour.

Only her personal furnace was decidedly absent. On a confused grunt, she cracked an eye open and reached over to his bedside. Limply, her hand fell to the empty mattress.

Her brow furrowed into a frown and she eyed the clock on his nightstand.

"Andy?" she asked the room in hopes of his head popping up from inside the bathroom.

When no such thing happened, she flopped onto her back and groaned. "It's Christmas morning," she muttered, throwing off her blanket in order to get to her feet, "where on Earth did he go?"

She visibly shivered when her bare feet touched the cold floor. The chilly goosebumps that erupted in the cold's wake all over her skin made her quickly slide into her slippers, and grab her robe, tying the sash tightly around herself.

She tiptoed out of their room, a tad annoyed, but careful not to make any sound that would wake the rest of their household. They had all congregated in her parents' old house in the hopes of enjoying a white Christmas, and were not disappointed when it started snowing earlier that week.

As she approached the living room, even in her sleepy state she couldn't help but smile a little at the blinking of Christmas lights emanating from their Christmas tree, the red and green shadows dancing along the walls all the way to the hallway. Thinking back to her and Andy decorating it before everyone arrived and him relentlessly teasing her about her angels (she'd insisted on bringing at least a few all the way up from LA), she almost forgot she was annoyed with him.

The play of Christmas lights along the wall was joined by another flickering of orange and red hues. As the telltale crackling sound of burning wood reached her ears, she realized the fireplace had been lit. Why Andy would start a fire so early in what could barely even be considered morning was beyond her.

She was about to give voice to her confused annoyance, but as she stepped into the room, Andy was nowhere to be seen. It took her several more steps toward the couch to find that he had curled up on it, only his silver hair peeking out from underneath the blanket he had wrapped himself up in.

He was fast asleep.

Her confusion only grew. Out of the two of them, she was the one prone to slipping out of bed in the middle of the night and when she did, it was because something heavy was on her mind.

But it was Christmas. Both their families were visiting and were currently fast asleep in their respective rooms. In a few hours the house would wake up and they would find themselves struggling to keep up with the excited energy that their children and grandchildren would be bursting with. There was not a single heavy thought on either of their minds. It made no sense.

Unless…

"Oh, Andy," she whispered sadly, then moved around the couch to gently sit down next to him. She carefully tugged down the blanket hiding his face, then placed her hand first on his cheek then on his forehead.

He was clearly running a fever.

She wasn't entirely surprised. The first symptoms had been there yesterday. He had sounded slightly congested and he had been ignoring the tickle in his throat and the irritating, dry cough that came with it. He had adamantly refused to acknowledge he was getting sick, but if the warmth beneath her palm was any indication, he had finally lost the battle.

She spared a glance at the coffee table, found a half drank cup of now cold tea on it, an empty glass of water, and a pile of used tissues.

On a sigh, she ran her fingers through his hair. He had been looking forward to today so much. For the first time in forever, they had all their kids and grandkids under one roof for the holiday and he was driving her crazy with his impatient energy all week. She hated to think that the happy high he had been on was brought to such an abrupt end, today of all days.

He squirmed under her touch, and moaned sleepily before realizing he wasn't alone anymore. He froze for a moment, then opened his eyes.

The second he made her out in the semi-darkness, the confusion and surprise left his eyes, and instead his entire face fell.

"I'm sick," he told her, sounding as miserable as he must have felt.

And what did she do?

She laughed.

Of course she immediately felt guilty, especially when he glared at her, shrugged her hand off and burrowed back into the blanket, but he sounded so childlike, it was hard to imagine he was a grown man on the wrong side of his sixties, and the bubble of amusement burst out of her before she could stop it.

It didn't help that, muffled by the blanket under which he hid, he muttered a wounded, "It's not funny, Sharon."

She pulled the blanket down again, revealing his face. "I know, I'm sorry," she said honestly, and leaned down to clasp his cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead. She took a moment to approximate his fever and decided with relief that it was a low grade one. He felt a little clammy, but he was not burning up. "How are you feeling?" she asked once she pulled back.

He sighed, turning onto his back as much as he could with her sitting on the couch. "My entire body hurts."

She smiled sadly. "When did you get up?" she asked, running her hand through his hair again.

He leaned into her touch, and looked over to the clock on the wall before answering. "Maybe a couple of hours ago." He snuggled into the blanket, and forced a shudder. "I woke up freezing to death," a sure sign he was running a fever, for he was rarely ever cold in bed, snow or no snow, "took something for the fever and lit the fire to warm up."

"And you fell asleep before you drank all of your tea," she added on another sad sigh.

He eyed the abandoned cup on the table and nodded. "I'm not as cold anymore," he said optimistically.

"Good," she decided, but thought it would take more than an hour to cure him of this particular ailment. "I woke up freezing myself," she added, then let a touch of reprimand seep into her voice, "only to find my personal heater missing."

Her faux pout coaxed a feeble smile out of him, and he reached for her hands. "Sorry," he said, sounding genuine enough as he rubbed warmth into her limbs, "didn't wanna worry you."

He never did, and the same went for her. It was an old argument between them they had both decided to stop having, so she merely glared her disapproval at him before asking, "You think you can come back to bed now?"

"Not yet," he answered, then tugged on her hands. "Let me warm you up."

She didn't let him pull her down. "We'll just fall asleep, Andy," she argued, "let's go back to bed."

He sniffed as he shook his head. He was definitely only beginning to suffer through this flu, and that knowledge alone was already chipping away at her resolve. When he tugged on her hands again, and whined, "Please," in that adorable way of his, she was already halfway in his arms.

He hugged her close and rubbed her back, forcing her to adjust her position and lie down as well. Once she was comfortably nestled within his arms and against his chest, he grumbled, truly disappointed, "I'm sick, Sharon."

She didn't laugh this time. Instead she pressed her lips to his chest and hugged his side. "Don't worry about it, the kids aren't going anywhere." Trying to cheer him up at least a little bit, she added, "I bet the kids are even going to let you open your presents first this time."

Even though he laughed, and oh, how she loved hearing that sound rumble in his chest beneath her ear, he said, "_They_'re my present this year."

Before she could come up with a response for that, and it took a while because his soft admission constricted her chest with emotion, the arms around her went slack and his breathing was replaced by soft snores.

"Mine, too," she agreed, then covered herself in his blanket and fell asleep herself.

When Andy woke up several hours later, he was far too tired to open his eyes just yet. He still felt as heavy as a log, and he could barely even begin cataloguing the rest of his symptoms. Bitterly, he wished it had waited till after New Year's Eve, or just the next day. He wanted to have fun with his family, enjoy the holiday, not be laid up in bed, tissues, tea and cold medicine.

One bright spot in his misery though, was the comforting weight wrapped around him, and when he moved his head, finding a mess of hair in his face even made him smile. He buried his nose in it and took a deep breath only to find himself disappointed that his nose was so clogged up he could barely breathe through it, let alone smell anything.

Remembering Sharon finding him earlier, he winced mentally. She will not be happy about being persuaded (even if he could argue she didn't put up much of a fight, and not for the first time either) to fall asleep on the couch with him, and if he were completely honest with himself, he will be right there with her working out all the kinks out of his body that day. He could only hope for leniency on account of it being Christmas and his being under the weather.

As if sensing him thinking about her, she shifted, burrowing her face deeper into his side, before mumbling a sleepy, but concerned, "Feeling any better?" He enjoyed the way her fingertips rapped across his chest in the rhythm of her question.

Hugging her close, he kissed her hair. "With you here, most definitely."

The cheesy response had the desired effect, and she lifted her head to look at him with narrowed eyes. He was sure she was making note of his no doubt rosy cheeks, maybe even slightly red eyes, and once she found an answer to her question herself, she smiled, and gave in with a soft good morning kiss. Already exasperated, she muttered, "Sweet talker."

He only grinned, taking a moment to note a few things of his own. Like her sleep tousled hair, the faint sleep lines around the temple she'd been sleeping on, the shadow of sleep that lingered on her eyelids. She was his favorite version of her this morning, but just like any version, she was absolutely beautiful. Seeing her eyebrow slowly quirk upward, he realized he must have been grinning long enough to peak her amusement, so to save face, he finally said, "Merry Christmas, beautiful."

She chuckled at his abrupt topic change, but the slight blush that crept into her cheeks let him know she heard, and appreciated, his small, unexpected compliment. "Merry Christmas," she told him, then on a smile added a pointed, "_handsome_," and rewarded him with another kiss.

He smiled, and not that he minded her affections, but, "Are you trying to catch the plague, too?"

She laughed at his choice of words, then playfully said, "It's probably too late to save myself now anyway." She pecked his lips once more. "We haven't exactly been avoiding each other these past few days, have we?"

He grinned wickedly at her, because of course this instantly gave him a few ideas. "So," he started at length, slowly sliding his hand over her cheek and stretching his fingers just below her ear, "you won't mind if I do _this_?"

With that, he pulled her down and captured her lips in a breath-stealing kiss.

Her guard down, she giggled into his mouth even as she melted against his lips. She quickly came to her senses though, for a moment later he felt a hand push gently against his chest and her pulling away. With amusement, she took in his smug face, then said mock-seriously, "You may have already infected me, honey, but," she patted his chest in faux admonishment, "I'm not suicidal."

"Damn," he mumbled, then ran a hand through her hair as she propped herself up on her elbow. "And here I thought you couldn't wait to experience the marvel that are aching bones, head feeling like it's gonna explode, and a nose full of snot."

She snorted at that last lovely image he conjured, and he instantly grinned at her. Through her giggles, she managed a sarcastic, "Sorry to disappoint."

He didn't mind that she did not sound sorry in the slightest, but instead savored the happy sound of her laughter. Seeing her so carefree and relaxed was one of his guilty pleasures. It soothed him beyond words to see her so content and part of him was quite convinced that alone could beat the flu out of him. He really did adore her. Maybe something about Christmas made him feel like the sentiment was entirely inadequate, for his chest was bursting with some indescribable wave of affection far more intense than usual, and he blurted out a besotted, "I love you."

Surely she could tell he was being a little more sentimental than she was used to him being, because she smiled only after scraping her teeth over her bottom lip, then whispered an equally smitten, "I love you, too."

He reached for her cheek again, then wove his fingers into her hair. Rubbing his thumb slowly over her cheekbone, he simply watched her for another moment. That little affectionate smile of hers that he so adored. Those green orbs of hers that he could happily stare into for the rest of his days. When he finally gently drew her towards him, he could have kissed her again, made her moan into his mouth again and much more, but instead he aimed higher and opted for what he hoped would convey even more. When his lips connected to her forehead, her eyes slipped closed. When she let out a breath and relaxed against him, his closed as well, and he only pressed his lips harder into her skin. Somehow 'love' barely even began to cover what he felt for her, what they both felt. Maybe not even this did, but he had to try.

He knew she understood when she pushed slightly back, into his kiss, and after drawing out the moment for as long as they could, she eventually brought it to a close, and shifted her head down until she could rest her head against his shoulder. On a hum, she snuggled closer into him, snaked a leg between his, then slipped her own fingers into his hair. He moaned when he felt her nails scratching the sensitive skin behind his ear, and ignoring the heaviness in his bones (flu be damned, he was going to savor this), he moved her robe aside, and slid his hands underneath her camisole. He smiled to himself when her breath hitched as his fingers danced across her sides, but he was rendered absolutely helpless when in retaliation she started nibbling at the skin of his neck, making her way up at a deliriously slow pace. Just as he hoped that she would finally grace him with a proper kiss, she abruptly stopped and gave him a wicked smile.

"You love me," he started, reading her mind, "but you're still not suicidal?"

She giggled. "Precisely."

"Come on," he pleaded with her, "just one more, you know, for the road?"

She looked as if she would indulge him that much, only just as she leaned down to do so, he broke into a fit of coughing, abruptly putting an end to his fun himself.

She flinched a little at his basically coughing into her face, then let out a sound in between a chuckle and a sad sigh. She clasped his wrists, gently freeing her waist of his grasp as he recovered. "You okay?"

"Dammit," he muttered, annoyed with himself, "I was enjoying this."

She chuckled, easing off of him to nestle against his side again. "Me, too," she agreed, running her fingers across his cheek, "but you're sick and we've got company."

"You do make me feel better though," he said cheekily, and even wagged an eyebrow at her suggestively, pretending that the movement did not remind him of his throbbing headache. "And," he added pointedly, "our _company _is still asleep."

She smacked him over the chest even as she laughed at his ridiculousness. "You're clearly delirious with a fever," she said, reaching for his forehead to feel out his temperature, "I won't have you heaving and wheezing in the middle of…"

When she paused, he eyed her teasingly, "In the middle of what?"

But she ignored him completely, not even looking at him, and suddenly her face broke into a huge smile as she told someone above his head, "Hello there."

He stiffened instantly, only angling his head enough so that he could see who she was greeting. He could only make out half a face as its owner was busy rubbing sleep out of her eyes, but there was no mistaking who it was.

Relieved, he smiled, too. He was pretty sure Sharon would forgive him for crashing on the couch, but for accidentally putting on a show for their kids, and not for the first time either? She would probably exact revenge on him for no other reason than that, naturally, he was to blame for distracting her to the point of losing her usually impeccable sense of decorum. At the same time he also grew a little smug at the thought. He liked being the only one who knew how to distract her that way, and before that fact _really _got him into trouble, he turned to his granddaughter, and said, "Why, good morning, little one."

The 'little one' was Nicole's spitting image. Only he called her that, while everybody else shortened her name, Samantha, to Sam. At nearly five years old she was his youngest granddaughter and Nicole's youngest and only daughter. She was such a perfect bundle of joy, lighting up any room she walked into and had the uncanny ability to charm everyone around her little finger in a matter of minutes, his partner, Provenza, included.

She was also patient zero of this flu that he caught. In fact, Sam had been spending the weekend at their house when she woke up one morning running a fever. After infecting her brothers, during the next couple of weeks, Dean and Nicole both came down with the flu as well, and up until the very morning of their flight they weren't sure if Dean would make the trip at all.

So, that one of them finally caught it themselves wasn't all that surprising, but the knowledge didn't help take the sting out of the fact that it happened on Christmas day.

"Morning," she mumbled, then eyed them curiously. "What're you doing?"

Sharon shot him a look, half amused, half embarrassed, so he quickly responded, "We just woke up."

"Merry Christmas, sweety," Sharon added on a smile.

The girl's eyes lit up, as if she'd forgotten what day it was. She darted a look at the Christmas tree, no doubt taking note of the presents underneath, but to both Sharon and Andy's surprise did not say more than, "Merry Christmas," too.

Sharon scooted down from Andy as he asked, "Your mom and dad still asleep?"

Sam nodded.

"Are _you_ still asleep?" Sharon asked teasingly, looking over her bleary eyed granddaughter.

When Sam only nodded again, Andy joined Sharon's amused laugh, then offered, "Wanna cuddle up here with us then?"

Sam gave him a wide-eyed excited look. "Yes, please," she said quickly, and before either him or Sharon knew what was happening, the little girl climbed over the armrest of the couch and made for the little space Sharon managed to create for her between them.

Andy narrowly escaped his granddaughter's uncoordinated knee and spared himself a black eye, but yelped when she inelegantly connected it with his cheek. He glared at Sharon when she laughed at his woe.

"Why are you sleeping here?" Sam inquired as she finally made herself comfortable between them. If Sharon's laughter confused her, she didn't show it.

Andy tried not to be too jealous over her deciding to face Sharon instead of him. However, he had made his peace with the fact that Sharon trumped almost everybody in Sam's book, and if he was really honest with himself, part of him was unashamedly smug about Sam stating on several occasions that she was her favorite grandma. In fact, he loved making the little girl giggle whenever he agreed with her by saying Sharon was his favorite grandma, too.

Sharon ran a hand through Sam's long brunette hair, and smiled sadly. "Grandpa's sick."

"Oh," the little girl said surprised, then abruptly turned to look at her grandfather only to elbow him in the ribs in the process, causing him to groan in pain. "What's wrong?"

Andy rubbed the sore spot, grateful that this time Sharon offered a sympathetic wince instead of making fun of him again. "First you give me the flu, now this," he mumbled. On a grimace, he added, "You'll be the death of me."

"Huh?" Sam said, now decidedly confused.

Sharon leaned over the girl's ear, smiling. "Why are you beating up on grandpa?" she asked, her voice shaking a little with suppressed laughter. To elaborate on her question, she pointed at the spot Sam had elbowed him. Andy helpfully pointed at his cheek, too.

"No, I'm not!" Sam instantly disagreed, then looked at Andy in horror as she realized what she had inadvertently done. "Sorry." She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Better now?"

"Much," he decided on a smile, then pulled the girl into one of the bear hugs that always made her giggle.

When she wriggled out of his hold, she said, "You're hot, grandpa."

Sharon's hand instantly found his forehead, and over Sam's head, she said, "That he is."

Any other day, Andy would jump at the chance to call her out on an innuendo, but he could tell she didn't like what she felt underneath her hand.

"I'm running a little bit of a fever," he told Sam.

"Oh, that sucks," Sam pulled a face. "Is momma gonna give you yucky medicine? We all had to take," she scrunched up her nose even more, "a _lot _when we were sick."

Andy eyed Sharon who seemed about ready to get up and do exactly that. "Grandma might," he said, forcing a grimace on his face, too.

Sam took a moment to think, then shrugged. "It will make you feel better, grandpa," she decided, sounding genuinely sympathetic to this _awful _fate of having to take medication.

Sharon took that as her cue and got to her feet. "Want to help me with that?" she asked Sam.

She looked torn for a moment between joining her favorite grandparent and staying with the one lying sick in bed. Finally, she shook her head. "Momma hugs me a lot when I'm sick. Makes me feel better." She wrapped her small arms around as much of Andy as she could reach. "Does it make you feel better, grandpa?"

Andy eyed Sharon, and she must have felt as touched by the little girl's thoughtful logic as much as he was, for she was giving them both an affectionate little smile. He wrapped Sam tightly into his embrace, exaggerating a happy groan as he did and plopping a long kiss into her hair. "You're the best medicine ever, kiddo."

"Good," Sam said, making herself comfortable now on top of Andy's chest. "You get better quick, grandpa." She lifted her head just enough to look at the Christmas tree. "I wanna open my presents."

Sharon promptly snorted at the five-year-old's hidden agenda, and when dumbstruck, Andy shot her a glare, she just laughed some more, pressed a kiss first into her granddaughter's hair, then on top of Andy's head.

She walked into the direction of the kitchen, no doubt to get some real medicine, and sing-songed on her way, "Still her favorite."

Andy banged his head against the armrest, regretting it when it revived his headache, and despite still hugging his granddaughter, loudly groaned.

**THE END**


End file.
